Renewal
by Lasympathetique
Summary: Pitch isn't the only being dependant upon the shadows, nor is he the only one affected by his recent defeat at the hands of the Guardians. A new friend emerges and offers Pitch a chance to reclaim the shadows, but how trustworthy is he really? And will the Guardians be able to defeat these new threats to the light?
1. An Unexpected Visitor

Firstly, thanks so much for choosing my fanfiction! I will try to update weekly, depending on my personal schedule and thought process. This is my first fic in a while :) I'll give a little introduction to each chapter that you can skip if you want absolutely no spoilers, as well as a little taste of what to expect in the next chapter. Enjoy!

Intro: Pitch is awakened, and realizes that he wasn't the only one affected by the retreat of darkness into light. Not all chapters will be from Pitch's perspective.

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In the deepest of caverns, in the darkest of shadows, Pitch slept. He lay in the middle of the cold stone floor, hands folded delicately over his chest as though he were in a coffin. It had been long time since the Nightmares had abandoned Pitch, sucking him dry of terror until he was unable to remain in a conscious state. The cave air was thick and cloying with sluggish shadows that curled like smoke off of Pitch's body. There was no light, not in the deeper recesses of the lair where Pitch had retreated to. The only sound was the rhythmic, quiet breathing of someone who was deep in sleep.

The shadows suddenly intensified as a soft thud echoed through the darkness, followed by the patterned hush of boots across stones. Nervously swarming around Pitch, the shadows grew thicker as though to shield the Nightmare King from the strange approacher. Yet the footsteps grew closer. They ceased close to Pitch, and a strangled gasp was caught in the dark.

"Ah, so you can play with fear even in your sleep? That is good, that I was not expecting." The stranger chuckled. Suddenly, his body wracked with the terrors inflicted by Pitch's subconscious, a final line of battle to warding off danger and letting Pitch recuperate. After several deep breaths, the stranger lowered to his knees and clutched his head, trembling. "You think you're so strong, even in the Realm of Dreams." He gasped, slowing raising a heavy hand into the air directly above Pitch's chest. "Allow me to prove your mistake."

With a shout, the stranger thrust wickedly sharp claws directly into the empty cavity of Pitch's heart. He grunted, and dug deeper, thrusting his full weight over his hand and leaning into the wound he created. Black blood spurted and oozed from the punctures, trickling down Pitch's black cloak and congealing on the ground. With a start, Pitch's eyes flew open, golden irises fully rounded in terror illuminating the darkness. He gasped as blood bubbled through his mouth, choking off the strangled cries of fear. The stranger grinned toothily, and a slick burgundy mist began seeping from the arm of the stranger into Pitch. The mist seared and burned within Pitch, lapping up the black and sealing the wounds. It shuddered into Pitch's heart, thudding and twitching as Pitch's body automatically tried to reject the burgundy. Pitch's whole body shook, and he screamed in fresh agony. Then the stranger removed his clawed hand and Pitch lay motionless on the ground, his last cries still resounding in the echo of the caverns.

Breathing heavily, Pitch grasped over his chest where the stranger had attacked him. The skin seemed unbroken, but Pitch could see the five small scars where each finger had punctured, circling his heart. They left thin white lines against Pitch's grey pallor, four small circling above and one larger beneath. Pitch looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. 'What do you want?' His voice was cold and clipped and steady, hiding the tremor just beneath his skin.

The stranger was tall and lean, and attractively dressed in high-waisted black trousers, white blouse, and old fashioned black cloak that fell to the ground. In one hand he clutched an ornate walking stick. Beneath the open cloak poked out two slick black boots with high laces. He looked to be around twenty, younger than Pitch. But Pitch knew that appearance was always misleading to the true age and experience of a supernatural being. The stranger had thick black hair tucked beneath a velvet top hat, decorated with a crimson ribbon wrapped round the base. His eyes twinkled an inviting green, and a smatter of freckled dotted his pale face. His lips were pulled into a charming grin, and his brows arched as he surveyed Pitch.

The stranger crouched to Pitch's eye level, long legs folded beneath themselves. 'I want a friend. I get so lonely. Humans can only offer so much company before they become...obsolete.' He laughed. 'Will you be my friend, Pitch Black?'

'What do you really want?' Pitch steadied himself, and slowly stood up. He forced his posture to intimidate, arms at his side ready to thrust shadows right into the stranger's infuriating grin. 'Obviously you're an immortal, some wandering spirit or other inconsequential being.' Pitch mocked. His chest still burned. 'What did you do to me?' He forced his voice to pose the question calmly.

'Oh that?' The man asked in mock innocence, gesturing with his cane. 'Just some insurance. Not that I doubt you'd join me, but a little extra motivation never harmed anybody, eh?" He spoke in a lilt, exaggerating vowels and crisping t's. 'And I'll have you know, I'm about to be very consequential, to you, to the Guardians, and to the very balance of the universe.' He whispered, suddenly vicious. 'Not even old Manny is the Moon will be able to stop me. If you're willing to join my cause, that is.' The man gave a cheeky smile, suddenly charming again. 'And why wouldn't you? We want the same thing, it only makes sense! I thought to myself "Now who can I find, sympathetic to my beliefs, with enough power and wisdom to overthrow the forces of Good for good?'

Pitch raised his brows. 'You flatter me. If not for the glowing concept of my own greatness thickening your senses, you may have realized that not five minutes ago I lay unconscious of the ground, by the doing of my own Nightmares. I was not able to defeat the Guardians, and I will remain unable so long as they remain loyal to the children of the world. I am finished.' Pitch frowned internally at the realization. His mouth twitched, and his body felt oddly hollow.

Here the man jump up and clapped gleefully. 'But don't you see, it's not! I'm giving you a second chance, to rise form the shadows and rebuild the great sovereignty of the Nightmare King. And I'm here to help, I told you that.' The man stepped towards Pitch purposefully. 'We can defeat the Guardians. I have other friends as well, good friends with strong loyalties. But none of them will be a companion like you. We will emerge as equals, I promise.' The man's green eyes flared with intensity, locking into gaze with Pitch. 'And we will take back what is rightfully ours. The powers they stripped from us.'

'Funny, I didn't think one of the rituals of friendship included gouging wounds into said friend.' Pitch's face twisted cruelly on the word "friend". 'Not exactly a wonderful first impression.'

The man waved a hand. 'Oh, that's already old news, it's in the past. Fresh start, starting now! Plus, I had to wake you up somehow, right?' The man's face smoothed, and he looked suddenly intense and...almost intimidating. 'So, we have a deal, right? You'll help me and my friends win back our Darkness from the greedy, consuming forces of Light, who leave no room for you or me in the vastness of all the universe?' He stretched out a hand.

Pitch eyed the man, skeptical. Yet the promise of redemption appealed to him, pulling softly at him to shake the man's hand. Feigning disinterest, Pitch laughed coldly. 'Why would I agree to your plans when I don't even know who you are? Truly, a foolish ploy on your part.'

The man's eyes flashed in fury. He clenched his open hand into a fist, and inhaled hard. Teeth clenched, the stranger struggled to compose himself. 'Nothing I do is foolish, okay? It's all a part of the plan. You're just...you don't understand my brilliance.' His voice was high and upset, and he pointed his cane in energetic accusation. Pitch stepped back, startled. The man's face was twisted in rage, astonishingly transformed from handsome and charming to ugly and vicious. Though Pitch was unsure, he thought the twinkling green eyes flashed scarlet.

Then suddenly, the man's face smoothed. He closed his eyes, and when they reopened, they shone a normal green. 'Haha, woah! I'm sorry, I just have issues.' The man laughed. 'I just get a little upset, that's all! It's okay, you'll grow to like my quirks.'

I'd catalogue hostile outbursts to be far more than a quirk, Pitch thought. He didn't dare voice the opinion, for fear of further provoking the strange, hostile, friendly young man. For now it was best to agree. Pitch could feel the recesses of his power drained, and he knew that he was not powerful enough to defeat the man. Not yet anyways. It would be best, perhaps, to align with this stranger. At least for now.

'Very well. I'm interested.'

The man punched a fist into the air. 'Wonderful! Perfect! You won't regret this, promise! Oh, I'm so excited!' His voice was husky with enthusiasm. He started off to the exit of the cavern. "Right then, let's be off! I can't wait for you to meet my friends.' His black cloak fluttered from the briskness of the man's stride. Pitch slowly followed, wondering if he would regret the situation he was about to place himself in. Probably, but what choice did he have now?

'One last question.' Pitch said.

The man stopped suddenly, and whipped around. 'What!?' He shrieked, hands stiffly clenched at his sides.

Pitch exhaled and blinked. 'I-what is your name?'

The man immediately loosened. He laughed loudly. 'Oh, that, of course.' With a tip of his hat and a flourish of his cane, the man bowed deeply and grinned.

'They call me Spring-heeled Jack.'

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In the next chapter, the Guardians learn of Pitch's awakening, and Jack is astounded to learn that Pitch is not the only creature of darkness out to get them.

Again, thank you so much! Reviews mean a lot to me, and are always helpful in the writing process. Many thanks!


	2. New Threats

Second chapter! In which we get to see the Guardians, and how they react to the oncoming threat.

Seriously guys, thanks so much for choosing my story. It means so so much! I hope you enjoy Chapter 2!

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Luckily Jack had been riding the icy winds of the northern Canada when he saw the myriad of colour weaving through the sky. North was summoning the Guardians, and Jack immediately quickened the winds in the direction of North's workshop, his brow furrowed in confusion and concentration. He left the small group of red-cheeked children below him, still playing in the snow regardless of his absence. Now that more children could see Jack, he enjoyed the time he spent initiating snowball fights even more. As it happened, five of the seven had giggled and gasped when Jack appeared, armed with fluffy snowballs and a wide grin. But now, Jack was frowning at the seriousness of the situation. What could be so important to cause North to summon the Guardians? What threat could equal that of Pitch Black?

Jack sent a cold blast through one of the workshop windows and flew in, landing delicately on the warm wooden floor. He smiled, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of cinnamon and peppermint. He had missed the workshop more than he'd previously thought. Sure, orchestrating snow days and snow fights and snow angels and various other snow activities had been a fun distraction, but the yearn to be back with the Guardians had built up slowly within Jack during their years of independence. It was tough to admit, but Jack was lonely. He absentmindedly dragged his staff against the ground, sending intricate frost patterns over the floor and walls of the workshop. 'North? Hey North? Anybody home?' Jack called out, looking around the factory.

'Jack Frost!' The familiar voice boomed, deep and accented, and Jack grinned to see North enter from one of the doors down the hall. North laughed, and pulled Jack into a bone-crushing hug. Jack was vaguely reminded of a huge grizzly he'd unwittingly provoked with a few snowballs long ago. 'And how is our Jack? Still cold as ever, I see.'

Jack gasped. 'North, I need to breath!' He was quickly released, and North laughed again. 'I apologize, but it has been too long since I have been seeing my old comrade.'

Jack shrugged, smiling impishly, 'What can I say, snowballs, snow days, it takes a lot out of a guy.' He formed a fluffy snowball out of air and tossed it gently in his hand.

North nodded seriously, 'Ah yes, of course. But now we are needing to put snowballs aside. Come with me, Jack.' Placing a giant warm hand on Jack's shoulder, North steered Jack into a room down the hall. Jack found himself in front of a massive golden door, and excitement flexed through him at the realization that the other Guardians were waiting right on the other side. North opened the door, and he and Jack stepped in.

The first thing Jack saw was an assault of green, pink, and blue as Tooth flew to give him a strong hug. "Jack! Omigoodness it's been so long!" She pulled back to study his face, hers suddenly focused. 'You've been taking care of your teeth, right?' She looked unabashedly into Jack's mouth, and beamed. 'You have! Oh, they're beautiful as ever! Just like fresh fallen snow.' She sighed dreamily, then stepped back grinning. 'We've been waiting for you for a while now.'

'No kidding?' Jack scratched his head, stepping into the room. It was the room where Jack had almost been made a Guardian, with the globe that revealed the belief of the children of the world, and the massive window leading directly to the Man in the Moon. 'Just couldn't get the party started without Jack Frost, am I right, Bunny?' He smiled at the great warrior rabbit across the room, leaning casually against a wall.

Bunnymund's nose twitched, and he playfully spinning a boomerang in one paw. 'Yeah mate, just couldn't bear the idea of having a rumble without you. Wouldn't miss the chance to best you in a blue, no sir.'

'Missed you too. Hey Sandy.' Jack waved at the small, goodnatured Sandman. Sandy smiled serenely, and conjured a golden sand hat to tip in Jack's direction. 'So, there's going to be a fight? When? Why?' Jack looked from one Guardian to the next. 'We defeated Pitch, right? The shadows are gone, the children are safe.'

North's face went uncharacteristically solemn. 'Yes, defeat Pitch we have done. But fact remains that Pitch is not the only creature who traffics in darkness.' He looked up to the moon, full and white, hanging in the pale sky. 'And now, we believe that other creatures are seeking revenge for what we have taken from them. Shadows.' Bunny nodded grimly, and Tooth looked nervously at Jack.

Jack was reeling. 'Wait, what? There are others?!' He shook his head in disbelief. 'There are others like Pitch?' The entirety of his existence, Jack Frost had thought that he, the Guardians, and Pitch were the only spirits that roamed the earth, save for a few minor deities like the Leprechaun or Cupid. Throughout his travels, Jack had never so much as seen another spirit. Not in all three hundred years of his rebirth. 'Are there others like us too? How many are there? Are...are you serious?'

Tooth stared at him. 'Jack, have you never seen another spirit before? Not even a sprite, or fairy, or, or, anything?' Her deep pink eyes were wide with shock.

Jack laughed uneasily. 'Well, I mean...I know about your fairies. But, like, fairy fairies?' He frowned in confusion. 'They're just legend, right? I mean, make-believe? They're not real.'

North gasped dramatically, 'Jack!'. Bunnymund shook his head in irritation and rolled his eyes. Sandy looked mildly alarmed, and blew a silent breath out of puffed cheeks. Tooth shook her head in amazement, and flitted over to Jack. 'Firstly, Jack, my Baby Teeth are just as much fairy as any of those other flower growers. Which do exist. Along with sprites, imps, fauns, selkies-'

Jack's eyes went wide. 'You've got to be kidding me.'

'No Jack, I'm afraid not.' Tooth shook her head firmly.

'Well, how come I've never seen these other spirits? What, did they all just decide to play hide and seek for three hundred years?' Jack felt a sudden surprising rush of anger. He'd been alone for such a long time, and not a single other creature had sought him out after all this time? Was it that they simply revelled in the loneliness of others? Or was he simply so undesirable that they avoided his company purposefully. The thoughts raced through Jack's head and he clenched his staff, unconsciously sending sparks of frost into the air.

Bunny rolled his eyes, 'Look mate, it's because you didn't believe in them. Which is a nut job move on your part, after centuries of whinging about people's belief in you. I'd have thought more from you.'

Jack glared at Bunny. Though he'd never admit it aloud,Jack was still sensitive to the subject of belief. Underlying fear that people would simply no long see Jack Frost still clung to him, and Jack shouted defensively, 'Hey, I didn't know! Don't blame me for not knowing about all these...other spirits.' He trailed off. It was ignorant of him to not assume, not to even entertain the notion that other spirits existed that depended upon his belief for visual confirmation. Still, Jack hated the condescending way Bunny looked at him, and shame burned in his throat.

'Okay, I'm sorry. I just... I never thought about it before.' He felt upset at himself, hollow. Maybe he wouldn't have had to live in solitude, if he'd merely thought about the possibility of other mythical creatures being as real as himself. Regret made Jack heavy, but North's hand shook Jack out of his thoughts.

"Jack, is not your fault! Belief is hard, even with direct knowledge. It involves trust of the unsure. Very tricky. And you are young. But now you know.' North chuckled. 'Jack, your world is about to become very much bigger, eh?'

Tooth flitted up to Jack and looked at him, her eyes kind. 'Yeah Jack, North is right. You're going to meet so many wonderful fae, you should be excited!'

Jack nodded. 'Yeah, yeah, okay.' He felt grateful for the North's advice and Tooth's confidence in him. It filled him with a warm feeling, until Bunny thumped a heavy paw on the ground, breaking the fog.

'Oi, listen up! Sandy's got a point, we need to get back on topic.' Bunny gestured a boomerang at the small golden man, who was circulating various images at breakneck speed over his head. Sandy's face was scrunched in frustration, and he eyed each Guardian. The expression was such a strange contrast to Sandy's normal composure that Jack shook the urge to giggle.

North nodded. 'Yes, of course. Jack, we are being threatened by another spirit of darkness. Man in Moon has delivered me message, pictures of darkness eating away at the world. Grim creatures, commanding the shadows. And Pitch.' North looked serious, his thick brows knit in grave distress. 'I have been seeing the return of Pitch.'

Tooth gasped, dainty hands over her mouth. With a clang, Bunnymund's boomerang fell to the ground. The noise echoed in the room, otherwise shocked silent. Sandy looked at the Moon in scrutiny, a frustrating longing to understand written in his face. Jack stood very still.

Tooth was the first to speak. 'Bu-but that can't be right! Pitch would be too weak, I didn't think he'd be back for another few centuries, let alone a few years.'

'Yeah, a couple centuries or so, unless he had some sort of help.' Bunny said softly, picking up his weapon and brushing it off.

Jack's breathing hitched. He remembered the terror of the Nightmare King, the wave of destruction caused by the terrible Nightmares. How Sandy, the oldest and wisest of the Guardians had been engulfed in darkness. Worse, Jack remembered the temptation to align with Pitch, fuelled by his own desperation for someone to believe in him. Jack shuddered as he remembered Pitch's unexpected vulnerability, how Pitch had laid out his personal desire for belief so freely. And Jack had understood. He'd felt bad for Pitch, truly sorry for him. And Jack still felt conflicted. He knew that Pitch deserved an eternity in the shadows and worse, for threatening the light of the Guardians and the innocence of all children through the world. But deep down, Jack felt sorry for Pitch. He'd been shocked when Pitch became invisible, reduced to a mere shade of his former self. Pitch's horror to his own invisibility had mirrored Jack's so closely that Jack's skin itched to think about it. His throat closed, and his chest tightened uncomfortably. The other Guardians would never understand this empathy, Jack thought. Thinking about Pitch was too complicated. He felt sick, he wanted Pitch and the complication that came with Pitch out of his life.

'So, who do you think is working with Pitch?' Jack asked, eager to move his thoughts away from the Nightmare King. North gestured towards a bundle of paper resting atop the crackling fireplace.

'Man in Moon has given me images, I have Phil copy them down on paper for you Guardians. Phil is quite accomplished artist.' North stated proudly, referring the yeti that had taken a particular dislike to Jack over the years. Not that it was entirely unwarranted, as Jack had a history of attempting to break in to North's workshop multiple times. Jack rolled his eyes, and took a page.

The illustration was hideous. A gnarled old man in a tattered animal skin jacket, clutching a thin, raggedy sack over his shoulder. He was wrinkled and gaunt, with a permanent sneer etched in his face. Beady eyes peaked out from beneath heavy brows. What made Jack especially uneasy were the goat ears and horns emerging from the man's head. His thin, wispy hair travelled down his face in animalistic sideburns, forming a long beard. The overall image was unsettling.

'Who is this.' Jack asked, turning the paper over in his hand. He shuddered to think that such a being existed.

'Krampus.' North's voice was full of distain. 'He is my, how do you say, doppelgänger? Yes, that is the word. Krampus preys upon naughty children of Christmas. He enjoys their terror much like Pitch enjoys terror.' North closed his eyes as though suddenly pained. 'But Krampus goes further. Particularly naughty children, Krampus puts in his sack and takes back to his lair. To eat, to turn into shadows, I do not know. But they are never seen again.'

Jack stared at North in disbelief. 'He kills children? Why haven't we stopped him before? Is he still doing this?' Jack looked back at the picture in his hand, full of loathing. He could scarcely imagine a monster that preyed upon the very children Jack threw snowballs with. Small, happy, red cheeked kids with cold fingers tucked in mittens, catching snowflakes in open mouths.

North shook his head. 'No Jack, you misunderstand. I personally took care of Krampus, long before your time. He preyed upon the wonder of Christmas especially, and so I made him a special priority. Was difficult, but Krampus was defeated.'

'Why was it difficult? He was a weak old man, according to Phil's sketch.' Jack argued.

Sandy shook his head, and projected a picture of a hunched figure toting a sack over his head. Then suddenly, the grains of sand shifted to reveal a hideously shaped figure, much large and upright than the previous. The figure appeared to clutch a long thick club in both hands. Two horns, much sharper and more wickedly curved that the goat horns in the drawing, pointed from the figure's forehead. A long mane trailed beast like down the back of the figure.

'Krampus is crafty.' North explained. 'He creates old man disguise, to lure the children. Once the children are in his clutches, he then takes on true form. Not nice to look at.'

'Great disguise. Yeah, I'd trust a guy with goat horns.' Jack said sarcastically.

Bunnymund looked at the illustration, scrutinizing it. 'Well, it's impossible for any spirit to fully conceal it's true nature. Right difficult to even pass off as human, for some of the more ugly buggers. I'd say Krampus did the best with what he had, and he's a right powerful bloke.'

'Thanks for proving me wrong twice in one hour, really feeling the love.' Jack muttered. He picked up another piece of paper in his pale hand, preparing for another disturbing illustration.

There were two figures pictured. One was a short, boney girl with twin braids. Her face was thin and pinched, with a sharp nose and arching brows. Her thin mouth seemed to be set in a permanent look of disgust, slightly curled. She wore a pale red dress that rounded around her shoulders, with sleeves that ended in ragged lace at her the skirt of the dress an apron was tied around her waist. She looked to be about thirteen, but held herself like an old woman who had long suffered.

The boy was stronger looking and bearish, with thick muscles and a stocky build. He was barely taller than the girl, but at least three times her width. His face was surprisingly round and soft for such a masculine body. Jack could imagine the figure as a small child, playing in the snow and sipping hot chocolate. Wide eyes balanced shapely lips, with a smallish nose between. The boy's hair was thick and curly, falling down the nape of his neck and ending at his shoulders. He wore a peasant's shirt and loose trousers, but his feet were bare. Jack placed him at about seventeen.

'These are just kids.' Jack studied the images, puzzled. He couldn't find any animalistic traits or otherwise disturbing attributes, only two teenagers. The thought of facing such normal look spirits disturbed him, especially due to their youth. Tooth looked over his shoulder, her brilliant colours prominent in his peripheral.

'No, oh no Jack. Those are Wraiths.' Tooth's voice was soft and sad. She stared sorrowfully at the paper, and gently traced a finger over the figures. 'Poor things.'

Bunnymund continued. 'A Wraith is like a ghost. Trapped between the light 'n' the dark, they drift from place to place searching for answers. Mainly about how to escape life as a Wraith. I'd always pegged them to be weaker blokes, dunno what Manny's thinking.'

'They happen when a human who walks the line between good and evil dies.' Tooth interjected. 'They can't stand the brilliance of the light, but they don't want to waste into shadow either. It's a sort of Purgatory, Jack. Humans who become Wraiths are supposed to either find personal redemption and atone for their pasts, or...they become consumed by the darkness.'

Jack nodded seriously. This meeting was taking a very dark turn more rapidly than he could have imagined. 'So, these two have a chance to redeem themselves? Then what?'

'Well...' Tooth looked uneasy. 'I don't think the Man in the Moon would have written them up a threat if they were close to redemption. But a redeemed Wraith will be released from Earth, and allowed to enter the Spirit World fully. No more endless wandering.'

'I'd imagine whoever's in charge is using 'em more like lackeys, doing the dirty work.' Bunny said. 'Recruiting other spirits, creating distractions. Probably considered expendable.'

North nodded agreement. He handed Jack the final page. 'And here, here is perhaps greatest threat.'

The last illustration was of an attractive young man in a long cloak and laced boots that extended to the calf. He held a long, beautifully crafted wooden walking cane, and a silk top hat rested on his head over thick black hair. His eyes seemed to pierce through the paper, staring right through Jack. A charismatic smile played on his angular, yet soft face.

'I hate him already.' Jack joked, but deep down something about the figure unsettled him more so than even Krampus. Sandy nodded in agreement.

'Good, me too.' North agreed. 'This is Spring-heeled Jack. You two have similar names, funny thing. But you two could not be further apart.' North folded his thick arms. 'Spring-heeled Jack preys upon humans, for food, companionship, whatever he wants at the time. He is in possession of inhuman strength, which allows his strong legs to carry him over roofs for quick escapes. Hence his name. He is also a trickster, but Spring-heeled Jack revels in pain and suffering.

Jack grimaced at the comparison. He felt vastly uncomfortable that this inhuman, carnivorous spirit and he shared a name. 'Well, we've got to take these guys down then.' Jack said, looking at the other Guardians for support. 'I mean, what other choice to we have? If the children are in danger, we need to do something.'

North cleared his throat. 'Is not that simple Jack. We do not know the location of Spring-heeled Jack, much less what his plan is. And we still do not know what role Pitch plays in all this.'

Jack nodded stiffly, unwilling to listen to North. 'They can't be that hard to find.'

'Maybe not. But what do we do if we do find their hide-about?' Bunnymund said. 'Naw mate, we need backup for this one.'

Sandy flickered images that confused Jack, but were apparently clear as crystal to North. 'And a plan, Sandy thinks. We are needing backup, and a plan.' He translated easily, as Sandy grinned in approval.

North sat down in his ornate wooden chair, cracking his knuckles gleefully. 'Right, Guardians. Let us begin.'

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So, I unfortunatly won't be updating for little over a week due to a holiday in Scotland, but I will be sure to upload a few chapters when I return! Hopefully the culture shock will provide inspiration for more upcoming characters...

Reviews are read and appreciated!


	3. New Allies

So, after a century long hiatus, I'm back! I went to Scotland for an eternity, then to New York for a slightly smaller period of time. And then I caught a good old fashioned Canadian cold, so I've been out of commission for a bit. I'll definitely try to update more frequently/reliably in the future. In the meantime, thanks for sticking with this story after all the waiting you guys have done, you all get cookies!

Btw I tried to update earlier, but for some reason it uploaded Chapter 2 again. Wtf fanfic, not impressed. Shoutout to the Guest user who so kindly informed me!

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Pitch reluctantly allowed the stranger, so named Spring-heeled Jack, to lead him through the dark forest in which the entrance to Pitch's old Nightmare palace lay. However, he remained distrustful and followed the man with caution. Spring-heeled Jack walked briskly, with business, and yet was boyish in the energy with which he stepped. Every so often he'd say something like 'Oh, mind your head there' or 'Watch that root, that's a big one' in a pleasant, amiable tone. Obviously the man was overjoyed with Pitch's decision. Pitch wondered what would have happened if he had refused Spring-heeled Jack. He decided not to dwell, instead refocusing upon following the man through the growing labyrinth of forest around him. The trees grew thicker, crowded leaves blocking out nearly all of the moon's light. Still they tread deeper, the darkness growing stifling even for Pitch's tastes. Even during his time as Nightmare King (he had little doubt the title no longer applied to him), Pitch had allowed the dim moonbeams through the wooden cracks of the bed shielding his palace entrance. They comforted him, not nearly threatening enough to consume his shadows, but enough to contrast them and give them distinction. Pitch had little taste for utter darkness; it was too chaotic for his refined preferences.

Spring-heeled Jack stopped suddenly enough that Pitch nearly walked into him. 'Hey, here we are! I can't wait, you are going to love these guys.'

Pitch couldn't see a thing. He raised a hand slowly in front of him in an attempt to better understand his mysterious surroundings. He extended his arm until his fingertips felt something cold, rough, hard.

'This is a rock.' And it was, a large boulder as tall as even Pitch, buried soundly in the mossy backdrop of the forest.

Spring-heeled Jack laughed loudly, like a good friend laughing at an unfunny joke. 'No no, see, it just needs a special touch.' He punctuated the last two words with a tap of his cane, twelve swift taps in a seemingly organized fashion. 'Thanks to my good buddy Algol, we've got ourselves a secret hideaway.'

Pitch's brow furrowed. 'Algol...the star?'

'Yep, see, I...did him a favour of sorts, and in return he gave me this hiding place. No pesky Moon getting in here, messing up my plans. See, it's only transparent when starlight shines on it, after I tap out the good ol' constellation Perseus, of course. I mean, Perseus isn't exactly thrilled that one of his stars is aiding my great conquest for the darkness, but what does he know? Stupid gas filled sketch. Algol has a mind of his own, and what a sharp, brilliant mind it is. Reminds me of me.' Spring-heeled Jack sighed contently. 'Right then, let's get down to business.' He reached up with his cane and delicately moved a thick branch of leaves, directly aligned beneath a large star twinkling in the sky. To Pitch's veiled astonishment, the now lit rock began to fade till it resembled the consistency of mist. He extended a hand that passed right through the previously solid stone, feeling a strangely dry, cool swirling substance tickle his palm.

Spring-heeled Jack tipped his hat. 'Age before beauty.' he laughed, utterly pleased with himself. Eyes narrowing, Pitch shook his head slowly. He wasn't going to risk being set up, ambushed, trapped, anything this complete strange appeared to have the power to do to him.

'No, you lead. I insist.' The words held an edge of threat, bravado Pitch put on to increase his own sense of security. It was dwindling slowly in the darkness, trapped with an easily angered spirit he knew little about, with the power to overcome him in a fight.

Sighing, Spring-heeled Jack rolled his eyes dramatically. 'Fine, I get it. You're really no fun at all, you know that?' Stepping forward, he suddenly whirled around to face Pitch. 'And no need for formalities, am I right? Just call me Jack. Much simpler, yeah?'

Pitch stood silent, thrown by Spring-heeled Jack's sporadic thought process. While his brain whirred for a response, Spring-heeled Jack shook his head in amusement. 'Oh yeah, I forgot. You don't say much.' With that he stepped swiftly into the misty rock, vanishing instantly.

Pitch peered through the rock, cursing the fact that he couldn't see through to the other side. He looked up at the sky. What kind of spirit makes a deal with a star, he wondered. Stars were very ancient, but supremely powerful beings. It was the stars that sewed the universe together, remaining constantly responsible for the order of the cosmos. Their true purpose was vague, but Pitch knew that much depended upon them. They were even older than the Man in the Moon.

'I already know a Jack, thank you very much.' Pitch relented silently to himself, feeling unsatisfied and spiteful from the strange spirit's comment. 'And we're not on good terms.' Then he stepped through the misty boulder.

Emerging on the other side, Pitch was immediately overwhelmed by the solid stench of rotting meat. He involuntarily gagged, bringing a hand to his nose.

'You'll get used to it.' said a high, monotone voice. 'Krampus gets hungry often. And he likes his food raw.' The word 'raw' was long and drawn out, in a somehow playful and threatening drawl.

Pitch looked around, his eyes adjusting to the new surroundings. He was now in what appeared to be a vast cave. The ceiling was endlessly high, and the ground was unnaturally smooth and level. Dimly lit by burning torches, Pitch could make out strange, ornate furniture that looked completely out of place in such a natural setting. Random wooden rocking chairs and love seats with silky pillows, stools, footrests, even a massive bed lay deeper into the cave. It all had a wealthy, old-fashioned vibe, like it previously furnished the mansion of a nineteenth century duke or lord. There was a large fire crackling loudly, contained by a primeval circle of rocks in the centre of the cave. It heat up the cave intensely, making the air thick and intensifying the disgusting smell. Lying casually in an oak rocking chair was a girl. Her red hair was long, and plaited into twin braids down the side of her face, accentuating sharp cheekbones and a slim nose. Brows arched, she surveyed Pitch with brown eyes like mud. Pitch, unwilling to relent to this obvious attempt at intimidation, stared back. He thought she seemed faded, the colours of her skin, clothes, and hair all watered down even in the flickering light of the fire.

'Forgive me, but I don't recall asking you.' Pitch said quietly, the softness of his words laced with threat. This girl already annoyed him, and he still felt a twinge of childish upset.

Spring-heeled Jack moved suddenly towards the girl, strangling his cane in his grip. 'Hey now, we're being nice to our dear guest, did you forget? We want him to like us. Or are you so empty-headed that you forgot to mind your manners and keep your lip zipped?' His tone of voice was soft, almost like talking to a child, but his green eyes flashed dangerously. They pierced daggers into the girl until she looked down into her lap, deliberately wringing a piece of her faded dress in her bony hands.

Pitch kept silent. Better to see what Spring-heeled Jack was capable of, test his emotional limits. Pitch knew his new companion was quite unstable, but how unstable? He observed Spring-heeled Jack, his tense, aggressive stance, the vicious way he clutched his cane. Pitch wondered if the cane held magic properties, like Jack Frost's did. He shuddered involuntarily. If that cane was anything like the staff Jack Frost wielded, Pitch barely stood a chance should Spring-heeled Jack turn on him.

'Alright, alright, I'm sorry.' The girl mumbled, staring into the fire. Pitch wondered if Spring-heeled Jack could detect the insincerity of her tone, the obvious sarcasm. But the man seemed pleased.

'There, see, it's much better when we get along.' He nodded business-like. 'Pitch, I'd like you to meet my dear friend Gail. She's a sorry excuse for a ghost with the temperament of a wet cat. About as useful as one too. I'm sure you'll get along famously.'

If Gail was hurt by Spring-heeled Jack's comments, she certainly didn't show it. Pitch watched cautiously as the mad gentleman loosened the cane in his hand and walked to the edge of the cave's entrance. He turned, the flames from the fire distorting the shadows of his face and intensifying the strange, unnerving mood. 'I've got other business to attend to, so I'll be catching up later. Gail, be sure to introduce your half-wit companion to Mister Pitch, and please refrain from doing things that incur regretful actions on my behalf.' He grinned toothily, and with a patterned tap of his cane he was gone through the rock.

Immediately the girl, Gail, exhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing. She closed her eyes and slumped in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her freckled nose with her fingers. Pitch studied her. She seemed as unwilling a comrade to Spring-heeled Jack as he was, but far more terrified of him than Pitch had thought to be. Lowering himself slowly into a chair, smoothly carved oak with flowery cushions, he wondered at their relationship. 'Gail, was it?' Pitch asked evenly.

The girl's eyes remained closed. 'Yes, can I help you?' Her voice was dull and unenthused; but she was obviously keeping Spring-heeled Jack's threat in the back of her head from the civility of her words.

'How well do you know that man, Spring-heeled Jack?'

Gail pursed her lip in distaste. 'Well enough. Look, if it's answers you want, here's what I know. Jack wants the power of darkness to overwhelm the world into his own personal kingdom of Hell. You're here because you can command the Fearlings and Nightmares, a trick he was never quite able to figure out. That's why you get special treatment.'

Pitch nodded, unsurprised. The plot sounded reminiscent of his old ambitions; it also threw a signal for caution. 'We will fail. I have not been powerful enough to command the shadows in a long time.' He smiled dryly. 'And even if I did somehow rediscover my old power, the Guardians would defeat us.'

Gail blinked. 'The who?'

Pitch laughed involuntarily. 'The who? Are you joking? You've no idea what you're up against?' He shook his head. 'I cannot believe this, I really can't.'

'Yeah, alright, I'm stupid. Fill me in now, c'mon.' Gail shifted forward, fully attentive now.

Pitch frowned. 'They're no more than fantasies and beliefs of childhood. You do know them, but by different names. Just as you know me.'

Gail looked at Pitch, confusion written all over her face. Pitch stared back, his yellow eyes gleaming as he subtly began to generate fear. The raw emotion was easily available to Pitch, he was able to invoke it even in his weakened state. He watched as Gail's face turned from confusion to slow terror, her eyes widening and mouth gaping.

'Oh God, I do know you.' She whispered, her voice deathly low. 'You-you're the thing I saw when I was young, and couldn't fall asleep...you were in my closet.' Gail weaved her fingers into her hair, disturbed. 'You were in my closet and under my bed, and I'd wake up crying for my mother to chase you away, but you were always gone by the time she came.'

Pitch smiled, a feeling of satisfaction and pride welling up inside of him. Here was a child who hadn't forgotten, who had believed in him, and was about to believe again. He wondered what sort of nightmares he had crafted for her. Pitch was very deliberate in the way he weaved horrors for children, reaching into the child's psyche and pulling out the deepest darkest tremors of that child's imagination. Although this intuition was strongest when applied to a sleeping victim, Pitch could still vaguely sense Gail's fears. He could also see the strange way with which she stared into the fire, whose flames danced wickedly in the darkness.

'Oh, fire? That's hardly unique.'

'What?'

Pitch grinned, feeling much more like his old self. 'Fire. You've no idea how it burns through the dreams of so many children, consuming like hungry wolves. Such capacity for destruction. And it invokes fear so nicely, don't you think?'

Gail stood up abruptly, her fists clenched. 'Hey, shut up!'

Pitch continued, caught up in a reminiscent haze. 'Oh, the nightmare's I'd create. Burning playthings, burning houses, burning parents- that was a popular one. Oh, and then the child would always look down and realize that they were burning too. Flames and smoke are so real in a dream, the moment never lasts long. The child always wakes up. But that one second of pure realization-' Pitch paused and inhaled hungrily, '-that one second of utter terror was so perfect and so delicious, I really couldn't help myself. And I can feel your fear building now, as we speak.' His pale eyes flashed to Gail, who was like a statue. 'You're still afraid of the Bogeyman.' Pitch said softly. The fear emanating from Gail was so strong it was practically tangible, and Pitch had not felt fresh fear since his defeat by the Guardians. It was cruel, it was unnecessary, but it felt so nice. Like slipping into a warm bath on a cold day.

'No, stop. This isn't funny.' Gail said, her voice shaking severely. 'I had a b-b-bad experience with fire when I was younger, and-'

'That's often the root of many fears, bad experiences, childhood memories.' Pitch agreed, his eyes closed in a bid to savour the fleeting terror as much as possible.

'-and I never got over it. And it still haunts me to this day. So stop.'

Pitch remained silent. Like receding mist the fear slowly crept away, and he reluctantly bid it farewell. Strength ebbing, Pitch slumped back into the rocking chair. His breathing became rapid, pulse heightening as thought he had been running for hours. Even if he had wanted to continue feasting upon the terror, his body wouldn't have allowed him.

Gail's voice hardened. 'Had enough, have you?' What faint colour there had been in her cheeks was returning, and her words were steady. 'You're not as strong as I thought. Look at you. Bogeyman my Aunt Nellie.'

'If you'd recall, part of the story was my noble defeat courtesy of the Guardians of Childhood. If the Man in the Moon played favourites, their little gang would be at the top of the list.' Pitch spat. He remained seated, but his posture hardened.

'But you said I know them?'

'If you didn't, then what a sorry childhood you had.' Pitch joked sourly. 'The name Saint Nick rings a bell, surely?'

Gail's eyebrows shot to the top of her head. 'Of course it does! Jolly ol' Saint Nicholas...defeated you in an epic battle of good and evil?'

Pitch shrugged. 'He has his moments.'

Like a kid on Christmas, Gail's face lit up. 'He's real then? Father Christmas? Oh my...' A giggled escaped her lips before her voice returned to a seriousness that barely veiled the energy of the question. 'What about the others? Who are they?'

Pitch exhaled. Although her reaction was exceedingly predictable, and coincided with the attitudes of children worldwide, he still felt the faintest twinge of jealousy. For North to incur so much affection and excitement at the mere mention of his name was a feat Pitch would never be capable of. He discarded the thought immediately.

'Well, the Easter Bunny is a Guardian as well. Sorry excuse for a rodent. There's my personal friend, the Sandman. Toothania, who has a strange obsession with collecting teeth. And Jack Frost, an overgrown boy with all the powers of winter at his fingertips.' Pitch's face twisted as he said Jack's name. The betrayal felt by him still ran deep, remembering how Jack had rejected his offer and sided with the Guardians even after Pitch had approached Jack unguarded. Sure, he had broken the boy's staff and tried to kill him afterwards, but it was an experience Pitch had never quite recovered from.

Gail was still reeling. 'The Tooth Fairy? Easter Bunny? Even the Sandman!' Her eyes danced in space, clearly envisioning said characters. 'Too mad, too too mad. I didn't catch the last name, though.'

'Jack?' Pitch questioned, realization setting in. 'You've never heard of Jack Frost?'

Wrinkling her nose, Gail frowned. 'Well, the name sounds familiar...ish.'

'There's a victory I wasn't expecting.' Pitch murmured dryly. He looked up. 'Look, just forget the name. I said nothing.'

'Umm, saying that isn't going to help me forget. If anything, I want to remember it more now.' Gail said, unimpressed. She threaded her arms over her skinny chest, rocking back and forth in place. 'But my goodness, I can't believe this. Jack never told me. Not about the Tooth Fairy, Sandman, another Jack, nothing! What a bastard.' She hissed.

Pitch shrugged. He had a feeling that withholding information was one of the ways Spring-heeled Jack held power and leverage over his allies. Just another ace up his lacy sleeves.

'You're kind of a bastard too. Maybe that's why he thought you'd make a good team.'

The comment flew right over Pitch's head. Remembering was exhausting, and he was growing more and more groggy from his provoking of fear from Gail. Slowly the fire blurred in his vision, and his eyelids grew heavy. The rocking chair became infinitely more comfortable as Pitch wrapped his arms around himself and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

So you'll get to meet Gail's companion in the next chapter! I will be mostly alternating between Pitch's and Jack's POV for each chapter, unless I decide something works better or I forget. I promise action is coming soon, everyone's just kind of talking right now. Has character development and setting ever been so riveting?

Reviews are always appreciated!


	4. The Boy and the Hunter

Hey, a new chapter! Initially two, I decided to combine them, as they were both quite small on their own. Enjoy!

* * *

'Okay Frost, believe. You can do it.' Jack Frost reassured himself as he flew over the vast blue of the Atlantic Ocean. North had instructed him to seek out a figure of local English folklore, Herne the Hunter, for more information about the adversaries the Guardians faced. It had been decided back at North's workshop that fresher background was needed about Spring-heeled Jack, from a source more familiar with the spirit than North or the other Guardians. Each of the Guardians was to set out to a different location of the world either for assistance or information, with the exception of North who remained at his workshop to monitor the Globe that revealed the belief of the children of the world. Herne was one of the likeliest candidates North had argued, as legends of Herne the Hunter had been spun from the same place that spun the tales of Spring-heeled Jack. North had instructed Jack that finding Herne would be easy enough; all Jack had to do was enable himself to see Herne through belief in him. Therefore, Jack found himself riding the tremendous gusts of wind that rolled over the Atlantic towards London, England.

It was an easy enough ride. The ocean magnified any winds Jack rode by tenfold, carrying him like a feather through the salty air. The quicker the better, thought Jack. The noontime sun beat down, rays reflected in the churning waters and amplifying the heat created. Jack felt slightly uncomfortable, beads of cold sweat forming on his brow. His body was most at equilibrium during the winter, when the temperature fell below freezing. Now, in the blazing sun, Jack thought wistfully of frigid snowfalls and winter air crisp enough to bite. He sighed, the coolness of his breath producing steam from the surrounding air. Being a Guardian was definitely a massive honour, and Jack loved the idea of protecting the children while staying true to his nature, but having responsibilities was a big pain. Not exactly his cup of tea.

Jack swooped closer to the ocean surface when he saw the telltale slick grey glisten of dolphins below him. He was desperate for entertainment, and tired of indoctrinating Herne the Hunter into his head.

'Hey guys, care for a race?'

The dolphins, five or six in total, swam below Jack with an easy amiability. Naturally sociable animals, they kept together and followed in the shadow Jack cast over the water. He bobbed and weaved around their dorsal fins with ease, laughing happily. Jack liked dolphins. As far as animals went, they had a good sense of humour and didn't seem to mind his company. Water sprayed and splashed froze when it hit Jack, falling like little marbles into the ocean. Suddenly inspired, he lowered his staff and let it drag against the current, freezing the water as he went. Crashing waves became like crystal sculptures, raw and beautiful. Jack always enjoyed pausing scenes of naturing, enjoying them for as long as he pleased. Admiring his handiwork, Jack grinned and slowed the push of the wind so he could hover over his handiwork.

It was then the dolphins disappeared into the depths, repelled by the sudden drop of temperature. Jack laughed, unaffected. 'Oh c'mon, don't tell me you give up already?' He didn't hold the abandonment of the dolphins to much stock; they merely sought warmer climates. Nothing to take personal. Besides, Jack much preferred the kind of company that could walk on land. The race had been fun, but it was over now. Anyways, there was a plan that needed following through.

'Alright, see you later.' He waved playfully, peering into the vast ocean depths. It was then Jack saw out of the corner of his eye the shadow hurling towards him like an arrow.

Yelling, Jack shot up into the air like a geyser. He looked around wildly, staff gripped firmly in his hand. 'Woah, what was that.' He squinted, confused. There was nothing but endless ocean. Clouds rolled ominously over the sun, dimming the air to a stormy grey. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.

Another shadow hissed beneath Jack as he flipped over in the air, barely avoiding it. Heart pounding in his ribcage, Jack felt adrenaline shooting through his veins as his eyes grew wide and frantic as his mind scrambled to comprehend. Something was trying to kill him.

He looked around frantically, staff poised offensively. The sky was an empty sheet, the ocean an unreadable cauldron. Distracted, Jack's gaze fell into the ocean as he saw the faintest gleam of grey. Not the smooth sheen of a dolphin's skin, but fuzzier, faded. Jack's heart dropped like a stone when his eyes made sense of the figure.

It was a boy, the boy, from North's sketch. The Wraith boy paired with the girl. He was distorted by the swirling waters, but Jack could see the look of determination fixed upon the boy's face. The boy reached for something in a blurred satchel, but before Jack could make out the image it was flung at him in a black flurry.

'Hey! Woah, watch it! You could kill someone with those things!' Jack shouted as he danced and skitted through the air, avoiding the mysterious jets of black. They seemed to consist of the same substance of Nightmares and Fearlings. Whereas the Nightmares and Fearlings had minds of their own, this shadowy substance was reduced to basic weaponry, little more than an object. Once thrown, it would dissipate behind Jack like a heap of flour into the air.

The boy didn't react to Jack's teasing, but rose out of the stormy waters as though he were being lifted. He stood as though the ocean were solid with one fist clenched around a cloth satchel, the other reaching around inside. Above water, Jack could see the boy had bright blue eyes and fair hair, a detail left out of his ink sketch. His eyes glared with the anger of a child, and his face held none of the mature composure of an adult. In a darkly humorous contrast, the boy's solid build revealed years of demanding physical labour, muscles torn out of a young child in exchange for a harsh lifestyle. Shaking salty droplets from his curly hair, the boy glared at Jack as though the sun was in his eyes.

'Come down and fight me, coward!' The boy shouted, brandishing his fist. It appeared to be clutching the shadow, as the material misted around the boy's clenched hand ominously. Jack brought his staff forward, determined to show off his abilities as much as possible in an attempt to chicken the boy out of fighting. Jack really didn't want to harm the boy, even after he was outrightly attacked.

Winding up, the boy unleashed the mass of shadow just as Jack unleashed a blast of ice from his staff. The substances collided and crackled into an explosion midair, sending shards of ice and tendrils of shadow scattering like fireworks.

'You see, kid?'Jack gestured with his staff to the space previously occupied by the collision. 'You don't want to mess with me.'

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as the boy thrust both hands into the dust coloured bag and hurled two more shadows at Jack. 'I'm not a kid!' He shouted angrily, lips pulled into an ugly snarl. Jack whipped his staff through the air, sending more ice to combat the shadows. The impact and momentum of the action sent him flying backwards over the ocean. The clouds were growing thicker, and Jack could feel the static energy crackling in the air. He had never been struck by lightning before, and he certainly didn't want to take his chances now. It faintly crossed his mind to try to capture the boy and bring him back to North's workshop, but there was no time now to attempt such a feat. He'd have to knock the boy out, which judging by the boy's physical power would be no easy feat.

Regretfully, Jack turned to the boy and focused upon the waters churning around the boy's ankles. He lowered his staff and set the ocean to freeze, icy swirls racing towards where the boy stood. Thankfully the boy was preoccupied with grabbing fistfuls of shadow to throw until he looked down to see the ice engulfing his knees and continuing up his body. He dropped the shadow which evaporated instantly, and began clawing at the growing ice that proceeded to shroud his body. The look of sheer terror that seized the boy's young face made Jack's stomach churn. He watched sadly as the ice continued up to the boy's shoulders, freezing him to the frozen landscape that had been an angry ocean moments before.

The boy's incredibly blue eyes locked onto Jack, wide like a rabbit's.'P-please,' his voice trembled, high and thin. 'H-he never told me...' The boy broke into gasps. Hesitantly, Jack flew closer to the boy, close enough to rest a hand on his frozen shoulder.

'Hey, umm, I'm sorry...You're going to be okay.' Jack comforted the boy awkwardly. This previously determined killer was a quivering mess, cheeks becoming rosy and eyes reddening with tears. Jack was torn being the desire to laugh and the desire to punch himself. 'It's just so...you don't keep throwing those things at me. That's it.' Jack said in a calm tone, eyeing the bag that contained the shadows resting on the boy's hip. It seemed subdued by the ice, a few shadow tendrils locked in place beneath the glassy surface. Jack was utterly confident that the boy was of absolutely no threat now, and nor were the shadows on the off chance they should have independent minds.

The boy nodded jerkily, taking deep sniffs now. 'Okay, okay, okay...' He said in a hurried, hushed tone. He looked up, suddenly making eye contact with Jack. Brilliant blue locked with pale. Looking closely now, Jack could see that the boy's eyes were the only source of brilliance on his face. His wheat hair and rosy pallor seemed tinged with grey, even for the stormy surroundings. Jack supposed it was because the boy was a Wraith. Faded colours like a ghost, it would make sense.

Jack frowned, the previous stammers of the boy sinking in. 'Wait, what do you mean, "he never told you". He who?' Jack frowned internally, remembering the name of the so-called ringleader of the operation. 'Spring-heeled Jack?'

Lightning slicked across the sky, and Jack realized that he would have to be quick. He wasn't scared for the Wraith; frozen to the top of the ocean, the boy had plenty of space between him and the deadly shocks of electricity. Jack wanted to arrive in England as soon as possible, and waiting for the storm to be over so he could fly safely would take too long. Best take flight soon, before it escalated to full throttle.

The boy nodded a teary confirmation. 'He never said you would f-freeze me. Only shoot ice. He said I could beat you.' The words tumbled out, punctuated with gasps and sniffles.

Jack's eyes narrowed. 'Well, he was wrong.' As the boy seemed to collect himself; that is, reduce fountains of bawling to sniffling and short breathing, Jack looked him over once more. This boy really was just a kid, no matter what his stocky muscles boasted. His face, however wrought with tears, held a youthful innocence and candour that warmed his boyish features.

'Hey, uhh,' Jack changed his tone, not wanting to leave the boy without somehow wrapping up the strange scenario. 'What's your name? I'm Jack Frost.'

The boy looked up. 'I know that,' he said with a twinge of pride through his sopping demeanour. Jack grinned and raised an eyebrow, momentarily reminded of Bunnymund. It was a fond sort of moment. Wiping his nose by messily grazing it against his frozen shoulder, the boy sniffed and mumbled, '...I'm Will.'

Jack nodded. 'Like, William?'

The boy shook his head vigourously. 'No, I like Will.'

'Gotcha. Will, I've gotta get going now. Just...stay where you are. You'll thaw out in a bit, I just need to make sure you aren't going to throw anything else at me, okay?' Jack asked slowly, feeling incredibly strange about requesting his adversary's permission to leave him entrapped in ice. Will didn't seem to mind.

'Okay.' Will nodded as though Jack made all the sense in the world.

'Okay.' Again, Jack fought the urge to burst into laughter. This was too weird. Before he left, Jack sent a magic trail of frost thin as a spider's web to dance in front of Will's face before gently nipping him on the nose. He figured if anyone could use a dose of magically fun-enhanced frost, it was the boy snivelling in the middle of the ocean, trapped in ice in the midst of a growing storm. Flying away, Jack could see from afar Will's expression shift slowly from distraught to a confused grin. When he heard a giggle bubbling into the air, Jack left feeling content.

He flew swiftly, weaving around bolts of lightning that flashed unexpectedly from the sky. It was far quicker to travel the further up he was, but it was also far more perilous. Jack urged the winds on, faster, more powerful. The ocean sloshed chaotically like a child holding a bucket of water, encouraging Jack to gain height. England wasn't too much further, perhaps an hour more and he'd arrive. Jack took a deep breath and steeled himself for the journey. The winds picked up, the water jumped and clashed, lightning cracked the sky and thunder's vicious boom shook Jack's ears. He couldn't dwell on Will, couldn't even focus on Herne the Hunter. Jack merely fought with every instinct to stay alive and reach the island civilization which birthed the foe of the Guardians.

After what seemed like an eternity of sporadic ducking and weaving, Jack found himself along the east coast of England, where waves pounded against dry rocky cliffs spraying flecks of cold water. It was a barren, hushed place, save for the ripping gales and rhythmic pound of the surf. Jack flew to the flat, grassy tops of the cliff shore and collapsed onto the ground. His muscles felt like jelly, and he gasped with pain as he slowly pried his curled fingers from his staff. Rubbing his legs and arms, Jack surveyed his surroundings. In typical English fashion, the sky was overcast and foreboding. Thick clouds swirled in the moist air, concealing the sun. Jack hardly minded. He rested his eyes and leaned back onto the grass, savouring the coolness of shade against his skin. Still, thoughts of Will invaded his mind like tiny daggers, nicking and prodding against his consciousness.

He couldn't have been more than fourteen, however built. Though concealed by wracks of sobbing, Jack had thought the boy's accent to be lilting and open vowelled compared to a traditional American's. Undoubtedly worldly, Jack pinned the boy as a native of Newfoundland or Nova Scotia, somewhere in the vicinity of eastern Canada. It was bleedingly obvious that the boy was not terribly bright, and Jack wondered how Will had come to be mixed up in such a horrific concoction as a fiend like Spring-heeled Jack might cook up. Surely the other Wraith, the girl, had some sort of influence over him. Unsure of their relations, Jack summated that the girl must have been a sort of older sister to Will, and held the sum of his loyalties.

After dazing about in thought for a while, Jack reluctantly shook himself of his thoughtful haze and resumed his journey. Arriving in Berkshire by the swiftest of winds (it was really quite quicker travelling by the coast), Jack spotted the familiar greenish haze of a forest far in the distance and changed his course. North had specified that Herne the Hunter far preferred the secrecy of forests to blatant plains or overcrowded areas of civilization. Herne far from popular, only the well-informed locals of Berkshire carried whispers of his name. No child would be disappointed never being visited by Herne the Hunter. As Jack approached the edge of the massively thick cluster of trees, he realized he would not be able to fly through the labyrinth of splaying branches and overgrown roots. Setting his feet on the ground, Jack stepped beneath the shadowy canopy of leaves.

The air was distinctly cooler, and held the noticeable scent of chlorophyll that seemed to tinge the air damp green. The loose dirt of the ground was soft and nice against Jack's bare feet. The vast trunks of trees carved towards the sky proudly, extending countless arms of greenery above Jack's head. Wildlife was abundant, but subtle. Whilst walking, Jack noticed that the forest was secretly teeming with life. Squirrels chased one another up and down trees, birds sat perched in branches or muddy nests. Deer padded delicately just beyond Jack's sight, their presence revealed by a flash of white and brown and the shaking of bushes as they fled to deeper sanctuary. Even tiny insects, butterflies, ants, and the like, appeared to occupy an abundant part of the forest. Though the forest was dark and silent, it held a subtle comfort and liveliness that eased Jack as he continued deeper into the mess of trees before him.

It wasn't long before Jack came across a small campsite, perched by a bubbling brook that ran through the forest before growing into a stream and emptying into a far off creek. There was a modest tent constructed mainly of a parchment coloured material and wooden poles Jack was certain were carved off trees in the forest. A small campfire, empty, was crudely constructed a few feet from the tent, accompanied by various pots and hunting knives laid precisely beside it in neat lines. Jack trod over to examine the display. The blades were clean enough that Jack could see himself reflected in them, white hair, pale skin, blue eyes. The knives were really quite beautiful, finely carved handles of ivory, obsidian, mahogany, even stone, embedded with tiny gemstones that twinkled like stars. They varied in shape and size, from as long as Jack's own arm to as small as the length of his hand. There was even a blade that looked as though it were carved from ice, translucent like crystal. It transfixed Jack, stunned him. Compelled, he bent down to pick it up and examine it further.

The moment Jack's fingers grazed the handle of the knife, an arrow came spiralling from behind Jack, catching the sleeve of his hoodie and pinning him to the ground. Before he could react, another was shot with frightening accuracy just above where Jack clutched his staff, knocking it away without drawing so much as a scratch. Jack looked around, bewildered.

'And what leads you to believe yourself entitled to my possessions, frost elf?' The voice was cool and calm, but weighted with dignity. It resonated with power around Jack, giving him gooseflesh.

Jack turned his body, adjusting for the sleeve still pinned securely to the ground by what appeared to be a hunting arrow made entirely out of gold. His eyes were drawn to the strange, terrifying, beautiful, impossible creature standing before him.

At least seven feet tall, the man's face was concealed by the brown hood of a tan cloak. His feet were donned with fresh hide boots, his legs with sharp burgundy pants neatly tucked in. Most disturbing were the antlers, like a great stag's, protruding from two precise holes made in the man's hood. They were bone white, and curved around the man's head gracefully, yet with intimidation. Well built, the overall impression exuded from the curious stranger was terrible, but beautiful. Jack was struck with reverent awe and the urge to scream, so otherworldly was the man.

'Ah...' Jack swallowed hard, searching for his voice. 'You're Herne, the hunter, right?'

The man nodded slowly. 'Yes, that is my name.' Herne tread closer to Jack, making no sound at all beneath the forest ground. His gait was graceful and fluid like a deer, noble and feral dancing together. Squinting hard, Jack could not make out any facial features concealed beneath Herne's hood; it was a mystery shrouded in darkness.

'Well I, er, we, the Guardians, need your help.' Jack explained quickly. Remembering his purpose loosened his tongue of Herne's intimidation. 'Can you tell me anything about Spring-heeled Jack?'

Herne stopped, and Jack had the impression that Herne was looking directly into his eyes. 'I can.'

'Great!' Jack exclaimed, trying to pry the golden arrow from the ground with his free hand. It was stuck tight, as though embedded in hardened magma. A calloused hand reached over Jack's shoulder and plucked it free with ease, causing Jack to bristle suddenly. Herne was incredibly adept at masking his own presence, even mere inches from him Jack hadn't sensed Herne coming closer behind him. 'Uh, thanks.'

Herne gave another slow nod, and reinserted the golden arrow into the arrow sling wrapped around his torso. Jack immediately walked towards his staff, which lay close to the shore of the brook when he heard the minute sound of Herne drawing his bow taunt, and turned to see it aimed directly between Jack's eyes.

'If we are to talk, you are to make yourself weaponless.' Herne ordered, regality carried in his strange, ancient voice.

Jack froze, hand outstretched. Then, he reluctantly withdrew it and turned to face Herne squarely. 'Hey, I really don't appreciate being threatened. Try asking a question once in a while.' Jack said strongly, sounding braver than he felt. Without his staff Jack felt vulnerable, like a rabbit in a pit of cobras. The arrowhead was balanced perfectly, and the bowstring was deeply pulled. Jack had no doubt it would be able to penetrate through his skull.

Herne remained still, poised. 'You sound hostile.'

Jack tried to backtrack his words, reeling. He raised his hands defensively. 'No, no, I'm just telling you I don't like the arrow aimed at my brain, okay? That's it.' With every exhale Jack was sure the arrow would let loose and skewer him. 'If it counts for anything, I'm sorry.'

Herne tilted his head delicately, as though in thought. 'It does,' he said plainly, and he lowered the bow to the ground. 'Though if you should threaten my wellbeing, or the wellbeing of my forest, my bow will not hesitate. My arrow will fly swiftly.'

Jack nodded, swallowing. 'I understand.' He did not feel like testing Herne's claims.

The antlerred spirit seemed satisfied, slinging the beautiful wooden bow over his shoulder and sitting in front of the empty campfire. The sun had set considerably, evening stars twinkling softly amidst the darkening sky. Herne raised his hand, and flames crackled to life inside the circle of stones, licking at the air and puffing billows of smoke. He gestured for Jack to join him. 'You desire information that I have, and I will give it to you. But you must take a seat, for I have many long tales concerning the wicked spirit Spring-heeled Jack.'

Jack sat down, eyes fixated upon Herne's cloaked head. The night held a mysterious, magical electricity. Owls hooted softly in the distance, and colour mingled with inky blackness that stole away the forest and in its place left a shadowy labyrinth. The moon hung, full and pale in the night. It illuminated Jack's colourless skin, but cast strange shadows over the fire where Herne sat. Jack felt a chill of anticipation rush through him. He leaned forward, the heat of the fire basking his face as he stared into the hollow black abyss that was the face of Herne the Hunter. 'Tell me everything you know.'

* * *

Whew, that was fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it, please leave a review to let me know! I truly love reviews, every time I see a little notification in my inbox my heart does a little tap dance, haha. Next chapter will be out asap, but I am starting college and will be a little more strapped for time. Thanks again!


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